What's a Family For?

“Sometimes we want to have growth without challenges and to develop strength without any struggle. But growth cannot come by taking the easy way. We clearly understand that an athlete who resists rigorous training will never become a world-class athlete. We must be careful that we don’t resent the very things that help us put on the divine nature.” Elder Paul V. Johnson of the Seventy, General Conference, April 2011

His tiny face is dominated by the largest eyes I have ever seen on a baby and the thick shock of shiny yellow hair is a delightful contrast and surprise. His perfect head lay against the pillow on my lap, so that we could interact face to face while we rocked. It was our first opportunity to have a real interview – just Grammy and Little Boy Blue.

Of course, I had lots of questions and I asked them, but he was reticent to answer just yet. He knew I suppose, that his recollections of the home he’d left a week before were too brilliant for my dull brain; I might explode if he revealed too much. So instead, he kept his intelligence under wraps -- only he couldn’t keep the glow of it from spilling out of those huge, black eyes. I rocked, basked in his glory, and took up the slack in the conversation.

Grandma banter covers a lot of ground. For instance, Little Boy Blue is now oriented to nearly every Merit Badge. (I think he’s excited about Cubs.) Yet for all the talk, most of our bonding time was spent silently appraising one another; just staring; just considering the possibilities.

I must admit, when Old meets New like that, the bulk of “possibilities” are on a grand scale: what grandma doesn’t wonder if she is holding a future President of the United States or the genius who may cure cancer? On the other hand, and maybe because I had just attended Sir Henry’s memorial and graveside service, I realized with a slight shudder that “the possibilities” also included a great deal of loss and pain.

All of a sudden, I wanted to protect my Little Boy Blue from real life. And then I wanted to protect his parents. My imaginary umbrella grew and grew until it ballooned big enough to cover an entire group of people – the ones I call “family”.

What really saddened me momentarily was the thought that my umbrella was not made of some heavy Indian rubber, but was more of a parasol made of paper. Nothing I could do would ever shield my loved ones, especially Little Boy Blue, from the risks associated in the Plan of Salvation, nor would/should I desire such a thing. The prospect of growth, of growth all the way to perfection, over-ruled my natural instinct to squelch trouble and tribulation from having their sway.

And then there’s my baby girl, who will be married next Saturday. Talk about risk! I envision she and her Little-Boy-Blue-nephew jumping feet-first into very deep water, while I wait, somewhat helplessly, at pool’s edge to see how long before they come up for air. Each of them are surrendering all illusion of control, giving themselves wholly into the hands of others, with no other strategy or defense or protection other than love.

With that picture, the things I had been studying and musing about recently, finally all came together and sunk deep into my heart. The essence of it is this:

The rain and the sun in Father’s Plan of Happiness, his Plan of Redemption, our tailor-made Plan of Spiritual Maturation, is obviously not about deflecting pain. It’s about absorbing pain; greater and greater amounts of it. With each new addition to our family, through marriage or birth, the risks may be increasing, but from where else comes the joy of progress? Family life is not a way of hiding or shading from suffering, but a way of suffering purposefully. No family will ever come into being, or become ultimately successful,  who doesn’t accept that reality and relinquish control over life and one another, which, in fact, is precisely how love wins in the end and fills our lives with the peace and abundance we all crave.

I wanted to explain all that to Little Boy Blue as he lay on my lap: I wanted to teach him that instead of fearing “the possibilities”, he should completely and enthusiastically embrace them, even relish them, and that we, his family, would love him through every eventuality. But just as I was formulating the words, those great, dark eyes lit up, a quiver of a smile passed his lips, and I heard a petite voice say, “It’s alright Grammy, I’ll take good care of you. It’s gonna be so much fun.”

Related Musings:
Imagine a Life
What You Don't Have of Have Lost

Every Plan (and Parent) Has a Dream

Our Number-Two-Grandson was born this week: Number One to Number-Three (our son) and Number-Three-Plus-One (our daughter-in-law). I dug through my journal to find something I could share tonight as gift to them. I finally found this entry. My husband calls it "prophecy" because it was written on:

Friday, June 16, 2000

            "My own children have asked me: how did you and Dad turn out such good kids as us? (smile)  I've never had a really good answer, but as I've pondered lately, the spirit has led me to recognize one point in particular.

 .           It is: Planning Ahead.

             I don't mean just planning ahead to tomorrow, or next week, or even next year.  I mean - REALLY planning ahead: like a lifetime ahead.

            Even as a teen I was concerned about my future family. I worried over how I would  EVER know how to handle each child and every circumstance? Even at 13, 15, or 17, I realized that life was a parade of endless scenarios and unique personalities. There couldn't be enough how-to books in the world to cover every possibility. And I worried about that. No amount of preparation could possibly be sufficient.

            I was relieved when the answer gradually dawned on me: cultivate the gifts of the Spirit.  Learn to recognize and utilize promptings. The Spirit will customize revelation to fit any circumstance you might face as a parent.

            Of course!  So that is what I did. I learned to listen to and trust this constant companion.

            Then I met my Honey. As the reality of parenthood loomed before me, I worried again: surely the Lord expected me to gain practical knowledge. So, I looked for opportunities to work and play with children. While socializing, I observed and actually studied the parents and kids.  Everything I saw, questioned, or reasoned, I would bounce off my new husband. He enjoyed it as much as I did. I took family life classes at college and read many books on the practical side of parenting. I learned about child development, effective communication, natural consequences and discipline.  I learned about keeping a clean and organized home. I learned and learned and learned and learned!  It seemed wrong to me that the world invested so much of time and energy into preparing for a profession outside of the home, and yet ANYONE could "make people" with practically NO training!                        

Dale and I talked and talked and planned and planned.

            The irony, or blessing of it all, is that our firstborn was severely disabled and our self-imposed education came to a new crossroads. We set out on a whole new avenue of exploration as we passed through an intensive formal course in the treatment of brain injury and the raising a very special human being.

            Nevertheless, in one of the photos of Ashley and me in our very first days together on this earth (and before we knew of her challenges), one element now leaps out. I am cradling my six pound daughter in my hands, holding her tiny face up to my lips. We are in her "nursery", which gave me so much joy to design. Behind us is a bulletin board with carefully arranged pictures representing basic gospel principles like scripture study, families, church going, tithing, the Savior, and even the temple --in a nursery!

            And that’s the key: I had already planned for my infant going to the temple. I was already treating her like the old, intelligent spirit that she really was, capable from the first moment of life to absorb truth. I believed that she was very, very GOOD. 

            As three more children joined our family, I was forever thinking ahead. One foot was always in the present and the other in the future. My visualizations knew no bounds. Some were of everyday choices and routines. Others were on a grander scale. The realization of some were only a few years away, others decades away. I was seeing my children's future when I still had only myself to converse with during the days.

           And through it all, there has been plenty of room for their own dreams. I never went so far as to "plan" their careers, interests, talents, or friendships. I have relished in the passing years, a sense of wonder and surprise at their choices and creations, all within the context of goodness. Their independence from me and their father is my "ultimate" plan.

            Now, a note about "wishes" verses "desire" should be inserted here: these were not just pretty pictures I painted in my daydreams, nor were they set forth on a piece of paper that might someday be lost or obsolete. These were LIVING goals, burned into my heart, my very being! The images were so real, that if there were some way to navigate time, I could have reached out and touched them. It felt (and feels) like they already DO exist, just in some other dimension that I will eventually and inevitably catch up with. I didn't just "want" these things to come to pass, like "it would be nice if...". My desire was very keen. I had absolute faith that they would happen. The Lord speaks of "desire" as in "desiring the things of righteousness." It is very clear that he did not mean fantasizing to be sufficient. True faith and desire motivates to action and a reliance on the Lord Jesus Christ. This is what I had.

            In consideration of the principle of "action," I believe I can say without exaggeration that in my adult life, every single choice, whether very tiny or very great, has been based on a single criterion: how will this bless or harm my children? Will this support or detract from the vision? As an example, I am, in fact, writing even these thoughts primarily for my children as parents. I see myself making a gift of this little book of counsel and experience to my daughter or daughter-in-law, as preparations are made for her new baby.

Living within this paradigm is not to say that I have no life, or ambitions, or talents of my own. As I grow old, I will be able to rejoice in a rich assortment of happy personal accomplishments that are dear to me, but none were realized at a price to my children. Any assignment or pursuit was only undertaken when I was satisfied through personal revelation that it would actually enrich my family. And the Lord has never disappointed me. Each of my own experiences has truly, truly blessed my children in some way. And in return has blessed me! I have never felt "sacrificed" in any way. The resulting sense of "fulfillment" and gratitude and joy and personal growth is beyond expression as any "professional" mother will tell you. These precious feelings of the heart and mind are far, far, away, and superior to the glitter of worldly attainment.

            I know that someday, such a keen awareness of my every move will not be of necessity, omnipresent in my thoughts. My children will have lives and families of their own: good lives, I might add. I know, because I have seen them! In that same vision, I see myself as a grandmother, matriarch of a marvelous extended family who enjoy and support one another and celebrate life together! Yet even as the children will no longer be under my direct care, and my husband and I will be "free" to devote ourselves to other forms of service in the Lord's kingdom on earth and in heaven, I see clearly that my "motherhood" will never end.

       
I believe in family for all eternity, and already -- I am planning ahead."

Muse with me: What kind of "plans" (or dreams) do you have for your family? Which of your dreams have come to pass?

Related Musings: 
Wish List

Galaxy Quest: Advice for Parents Who Want to Know
Old Beginnings

Galaxy Quest: Advice for Parents Who Want to Know

It feels so good to be with my grown children back in the USA this week. My oldest son and his family have been spoiling me rotten, and as I was wrestling this morning with a title for this musing, I remembered our perfectly American Saturday night last night: a mega bowl of popcorn and a popular movie silly. "Galaxy Quest."

My son gave me a stack of photos yesterday – you know, the old fashioned kind, the ones you have to hold in your hand or paste in a scrapbook to look at. He had come across a roll of film and, curious about the contents, had it developed. The pictures were from Christmas 1992. What struck and relieved me most, as I sorted through these hard-copy memories, was that no one posed with their new toy like a fishermen beside his trophy tuna. Instead, in every picture, my children were hugging somebody.

To have physical evidence that my kids really loved and appreciated each other as children, and that we -- all the adults in their lives -- found joy in their childhood, meant a lot to me, for my memory is aging and I am well aware that I cannot trust it completely anymore: either I get little too rose-colored, like an old love-letter curling slightly at the edges, or I become critical of my past, like an old epistle, read so often it takes on too much meaning.

There are some things, however, I remember with absolute clarity. This is the biggest: I LOVED being a mommy. I loved every stage of being a mommy: infants, toddlers, elementary school, tweens, teens, young adults: bring it on. However, I am sure now that I am different now. That is what going through all those stages does to a woman. Grandma’s hair turns silver so that her children will know she is different; so that, as adults, they will forgive and revere her. The wiry head is a lopsided crown proclaiming: I did it. I was imperfect, but I did it.

Two-Plus (today's name for the precious person who married my second son), is about to give birth to her first baby. Evidently, at her recent baby shower, a well-meaning mommy-peer, who is also new to the ranks, gave her this earnest piece of advice: Do not listen to anyone else’s ideas about parenting. It’s your baby, and no one else can tell you how to parent. My darling Two-Plus was amazed.

Her friend’s green-counsel reminds me of a Jerry Seinfeld routine about helpful aliens parking their spaceship in the yard just as Dad is putting everything in the car for a family road-trip. Surrounded by too much luggage for the trunk, Dad says: ‘EVERYBODY STAND BACK. IT GOES IN A WAY ONLY I UNDERSTAND.’ ‘But Dad,’ you whisper, ‘they came from another galaxy! I think they know how to pack.’

I admit I am increasingly wrinkled, shrinking, and poofy, but I am not an alien. Whatever worthy advice I can offer younger mommies and daddies is because I am human too. It’s not because I was Mother-Extraordinaire, but because I was Mother-Pulling-Hair. I over-extended, over-expended, and over-expected. Most of my mistakes, the kids and I grew through, but some of them had consequences that echo in our lives today.... Buuuut if you aren’t interested in becoming the wiser-then-I-was (because the only “how-to” you trust is the book you wrote yourself) then all I can tell you is how it feels to live with the consequences.

I have, and will continue, to share my parenting experience (good and bad) at Musings and in other ways with younger mums and dads who want to know. But for today, standing here in the driveway, surmising all the bags and equipment you have yet to pack, my best advice is to go get some more. ADVICE that is. The parents who have earned their silver crown have a wealth of valuable information.

Toss the “feed-Baby-pureed-liver” prattle if you want (I'm not talking about heeding Know-It-Alls) , but listen for the meaningful stuff from meaningful people. Ask ‘em ('cuz the worthy ones won't necessarily tell you unless you ask) how they got across the galaxy, make notes, and then -- if I were you -- take a picture together. When younger people come to you for your experience someday, you’ll need proof that the kids were once short; natural color hair was normal; and -- though they have long since returned to the stars -- it was wizened, generous aliens who helped you sort the car for that family trip.

Muse with me: What's the best parenting advice you have ever received?

Related Musings:
everything under
Musings On Our Relationships with Kiddos
(left side bar)

Riveted

When Dale slipped out the door to the airport this morning, I was still under the covers. It is never a pleasant sensation to wake up and realize he is gone. This morning I felt that an additional uneasiness -- the one I always feel when his destination is somewhere in the Middle East: a place where, as we all know, people and tradition clash in unforgiving ways. I lay in bed, reminiscing about our trip to Israel last fall...and then made the connection to another memory from a trip only weeks ago to...

Stockholm, Sweden

Turning a corner in the Old Town of Stockholm, we barely avert being towed down the river of humanity suddenly surging round us. These people aren’t tourists – too much tension for that. The banners and chanting take deciphering -- Swedish to English – but we finally get it: this is a tide of disgruntled demonstrators called Communists. (Strange coming from a people with one of the lowest poverty rates in the world.) As I purposefully turn my eyes away from a confrontation between protestors and police on horseback, I glimpse something even more disturbing: a child in the middle of the parade on Daddy’s shoulders.

Tiberius, Israel

We enter another orthodox church of stone, built on a holy site, predictably full of wooden pews, stained glass windows, and shrines of golden saints. At least the cathedral is cool, if not awe-inspiring, and so I sit: near the middle, where I can watch people best. They come and go, site-see-ers seeking souvenirs and spirituality in the Judean desert. For the most part, they spend the ten minutes the tour operator has given them digitizing the dark crannies and dusty crypts, drifting without a program; except for the woman who suddenly bustles past me, a daughter of six or seven in hand. The woman stops with dead reckoning in the very center of the chapel and lowers one knee to the tiled floor, then bows her head. Two seconds later, Mother stands and turns to Child waiting two feet behind, pointing forcefully at the spot she just rose from. The girl moves quickly to mimic the rite verbatim; hair covering face, skirt beneath knee, almost a pratfall as she scurries out the door after her Model.

Jerusalem, Israel

From this hill, our three Israeli companions point out The Church of Holy Sepulcher, the Dome of the Rock, and the “Mormon University” on the opposite slope. Did you know we are Mormon, we ask? Surprised faces. We did not! We have some questions for you, they say. I leave it to Dale and sit beneath a tree a few yards away. The surreal aspect of the situation suddenly hits me, and I watch our animated friends with fascination. Earlier that day, Shlomi had explained that he was Jewish, but secular. When Benji joined us, his yamaka gave him away as orthodox, a Zionist actually. And as the day progressed, Moti made it clear that he practiced his religion, but moderately. Why? I had asked all three. Why do you believe and live as you do? Shlomi shrugged, Benji smiled, and Moti looked thoughtful, but their answers were word for word the same: I was raised that way.

Nazareth, Northern Israel

Our personal guide Aton, though well over 60, is powerfully built and moves so decisively, we have a hard time keeping up. Yet when he tells the stories of Jesus on the shores of Galliee, or reads Matthew 5 atop the Mount of Beatitudes, he holds very still and his voice is full of care. Tell us more, we say, about YOU: you are Jewish? I am. Yet you give tours of the Holy Land. Yes, I enjoy the faith of the Christians and wish I could believe too. Why don’t you? I was raised in a Kibbutz as an Atheist.

**********************************************************

These and dozens of other experiences traveling abroad, have expanded my view of humanity. I appreciate in a new way how deeply rooted and interconnected faith and identity are. So entrenched become the belief systems of our childhood, that the scriptures use the word "riveted" to describe how "the creeds of men" are imbedded in "the hearts of the children."

I will treat the little people at church today with increased respect, and cannot help wishing, as a precursor to the wish for world peace, that all grown-ups would do the same for children EVERYWHERE.

Muse with me: How might this perspective affect the way you teach children?

Related Musings: Romance the Heart
Jerusalem, Jerusalem
Northern Israel in a Day

Highly recommended/ directly related
post by fellow Muser, Bri Colorful:
Determined

Photos of children''s faces from Dreamstime

Old Beginnings

You know, it doesn't matter how great the talk is, how important the speaker, or how poignant the testimony, when there's a baby around - I am totally distracted in church meetings. It's like, "Sorry -- there's a baby here!" Today, I couldn't help observing a young mother and her infant. The baby girl is her first, and just the sweetest thing; petite, bright-eyed, tiny rosebud lips. I watched with tenderness how mother and child interacted. You could feel the mother's great hopes and dreams for that little one every time she held her up to her face and cooed at her. I remember all of that so well. Of course I could not comprehend at that stage, as my young mother friend certainly does not, how precious - and painful - the ensuing years would be; those years when your dreams either become their dreams too, or are replaced with completely different dreams of their own making.

It is the beginning of a new year and my grown children are off on their end-of-Christmas-break pilgrimage back to their lives away from mine. This letting-go-and-grow has been a process for me as a mother, as it is for all mothers. I've found mine has been documented in my January journal entries for the past 8 years:

January 2000
I can hardly believe the year is over. Mortality is such a paradox; an irony, and a wonder. We anticipated so much in the past year, and now it is all a memory. It makes me joyful while fighting melancholy and the urge to curse TIME. It seems wicked for marching on without mercy and for limiting us to consecutive experiences: one horizon after another. No sooner do I climb and then descend the hill; but there's another one before me. My children are growing up.

January 2001
I looked at my "baby" and realized that my child princess is no longer a child. At 13, we are on a whole new era/adventure. I also begin another year of raising young adults. No more Primary, no more kissing "owies" better, no more breaking up their disagreements, no more scrubbing their faces, admiring their freckles, or teaching them to ride a bike, write the alphabet, or to "ooo" over a dinosaur. I left diapers behind a long time ago with playpens, car seats, and cribs. But the intervening years have been a delight - especially the moments with the girl with the ringlets cascading down her back.

January 2002
The kids and I finished reading the Book of Mormon TOGETHER. The project has taken well over a year's time, but through it I've taught them and "discovered" them; even as they "discovered" the riches inside that Book of Books...morning after morning, sitting about the living room or gathered round the kitchen table, reading aloud two verses each. Discussions and digressions frequently intervened -- that's why it took so long! We went to one of our favorite restaurants last night to celebrate our accomplishment. But dinner out couldn't compare to the joy and relief I felt flood my entire being as I read aloud Moroni's last verse. I put my head down and sobbed. If I should die tomorrow, my children will have our hours together, reading the Book of Mormon.

January 2004
Thinking about this new year...as I see it, my mission right now, at least for the next several years, is to center my energies on raising my teens and young adults; supporting, encouraging, teaching -- as they stretch their wings and discover who they really are.

January 2006
My heart has been broken over and over during the past year. Yet Charity wins! Christ the victor! My hurt and anxieties have melted into a peaceful acceptance of my children's agency. But what sorrow I have had to pass through! Losing my children from under my constant care is the hardest stage of motherhood! Oh Father! Why wasn't I warned at the beginning?!

January 2007
I'm learning to love this phase of my life: young adults, the struggles and glories of growth, the heady fantasies and the sometimes painful realities, my lifelong dreams and wishes and works and prayers coming to a head, their ultimate fulfillment still an open question, still just around the corner. As my children make the transition into adulthood, I am holding their hands, but with a light touch. As little people, I clung to them and they clung to me, hands clasped tight...mine the bigger. Now, every one of them, except my delicate Ashley, has much larger hands than mine. And instead of walking in front of them, pulling them behind, I can hardly keep up with the ambitious strides that come from their own very long legs. They are still holding my hand for moral support, but with my free hand I alternate between pointing out what's ahead and applying a little encouraging push from beside, or a little behind. Someday very soon, of course, they will be far in front. I will still keep my eye on them, but only to observe their lives and to give an occasional nod of approval, a wave of "I'm okay...you go ahead", and to cry a little when they think to turn around and blow a kiss.

January 2008
I've chosen to like getting old. Wrinkles are beautiful. Silver hair is a crown of achievement, a symbol of endurance, a reminder that, as Elder Nelson once said, "We're not stuck on this earth forever." Righteousness, held to consistently throughout our lives, produces the fruits of peace and satisfaction in old age, so that we do not fear it. I am over half way through my mortality, and have experienced the miracle of my first grandbaby, and look forward to all the others who are waiting in the wings. My hand is ready to take theirs -- as they lead me.